


Jailbreak

by envysparkler



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers Family, Civil War Fix-It, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, jailbreak, whump fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: Tony takes one look at the Raft and sees red.(Steve and the Winter Soldier can wait.  He has a jailbreak to execute.)
Relationships: Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 53
Kudos: 384





	Jailbreak

“Wait, FRIDAY, they’re _where_?”

“Secretary Ross had the rogue Avengers remanded to his custody and he appears to have moved them to the Raft.”

“The weird underwater supervillain prison.”

“Yes, boss.”

“And how exactly did _Secretary Ross_ get the authority to do this?”

FRIDAY was silent. Tony allowed himself one moment to bury his head into his hands and silently scream.

“This was in the Accords, wasn’t it.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Alright, let’s fly to the creepy secret prison and brainstorm later – someone went to a lot of effort to send Capsicle and his boyfriend straight into a trap and we need to know where they went.”

* * *

“You’re lucky _you’re_ not in here after the fiasco in Germany,” Ross sneered, and Tony reminded himself to play nice. He was here to gather information and he wouldn’t be gathering much of anything if he punched Ross in the face.

Every step increased Tony’s foreboding. The whitewashed walls and silent guards didn’t help. The fourteen different levels of security before they go to the right floor didn’t help. The command room with twenty monitors and four guards didn’t help.

Tony took a deep breath, tried to convince himself that Pepper would tear this place to pieces if Ross dared to lock him inside.

Cap was the priority here. Finding Cap before he walked straight into a trap.

Tony exhaled slowly and entered the room.

At first glance, it wasn’t too bad. The room was a bit chilly but the…the prisoners had warm clothes. The unknown – the one that could shrink – was glaring at him. Sam was glaring at him. Clint was looking at him like he wanted to dunk Tony’s bones in acid. Wanda was –

Wanda was –

Abruptly, Cap and the trap he was walking into got pushed into second place.

Tony stared at Wanda – at the straightjacket she was locked into, at the collar around her neck, at the way she looked at him, rage and terror and a desperate, flickering hint of hope.

Tony twitched his fingers in the pattern he’d worked out ahead of time. FRIDAY hummed to life in his ear, “Audio is down for one minute, boss.”

“We don’t have much time,” Tony said, quietly and urgently, cutting off whatever Clint had been about to say, “I blocked their audio for one minute. After that, I can cut off video for thirty seconds and open your cells. There are fifteen checkpoints between here and the last door and the only plan I have right now relies on them not wanting me dead, so we got about forty-five seconds to brainstorm a better one.”

Clint stared at him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Breaking you out, bird brain,” Tony raised his eyebrows. He could already hear the sound of muttering outside the room. He was banking on Ross trying to give him just enough rope to hang himself with. “Tick tock. We don’t have much time to waste.”

“And we should trust you why?” Sam asked, stepping closer to the bars, arms crossed, “You put us here.”

“No, I came to get you out. See the difference?” Tony said, irritated, “We don’t have much time, so I’ll appreciate if we can _move this along_.”

“You were perfectly happy to leave us to Ross in Germany,” Clint said, “What changed?”

Really? _Really_? They were wasting time on _this_?

“In Germany I didn’t know he was going to stick you all in a supervillain prison without a trial,” Tony said frankly, “I also didn’t know that Death Metal was framed. So, first we’re going to get you out and then we’re going to go rescue Cap from walking straight into a trap.”

Clint turned to Sam. Sam glanced at Tony and then gave a hesitant nod.

“Twenty seconds left,” Tony said, heart racing, “And the only plan I could think of on the spot was taking a hostage.”

Clint looked at him. And then _looked_ at him.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

“Iron Man walks into a secret underwater prison and doesn’t walk back out,” Tony said. They had only ten seconds left. “You think Ross is going to bet his career on that?”

Clint sighed. “Alright,” he said, and the others straightened up, “How much time do we have?”

“Lights out in three, two, one –”

The room went dark.

* * *

Soldiers burst in as soon as they got the doors open, and stopped dead. Tony wheezed in Clint’s grasp, intimately aware of the hard forearm far too close to his windpipe.

Sam and Scott, hidden near the doors, attacked as soon as the first soldier was past the door. In a few seconds, both were armed. Wanda was hovering at Clint’s six, almost hidden behind the two of them.

Tony watched Ross enter the room, blinking at the scene that confronted him.

“Really, Barton, I thought you could count,” he said, bemused, “Two guns, against every guard in this building? You know better than that. Do you really want to be put into solitary?”

“You’re not going to touch us, Ross,” Clint said, and Tony could hear the contained snarl in his voice, “Because if you do, you’ll be short one Iron Man.”

The look Ross leveled on him was nothing short of scorching. “You think I care?” Ross said through gritted teeth, “You think I don’t know that this is his plan? He’s going to end up in a cell right next to you, Barton, so go ahead.”

“Iron Man Disappears Into Secret Military Prison,” Clint said quietly, “Is that what you want tomorrow’s headline to read? Face it, Ross, the only reason you could take the four of us was because no one cared – no one knows who Scott is, I’m supposed to be retired, Sam’s not been in the field for very long, and Wanda’s reputation was trashed. But _Iron Man_? You’re going to lock up Tony Stark and expect no one to come after you?”

Ross gritted his teeth. “You expect this to work, Stark?” he asked coldly, “Organizing a prison break in defiance of the Accords?”

Tony tried to convey that this was not his idea, but Clint tightened his hold and he choked. “Raise your hands, Stark.”

Tony slowly lifted his right hand and Clint tutted, “No, _both_ hands.”

Tony breathed out slowly, set his jaw, and reluctantly raised his broken arm. He met Ross’ stare with a seething glare as his teeth ground together. His left arm was sending fluttering spikes of pain through his shoulder, each stronger than the last.

Ross stared at Clint. Clint stared back. Tony was acutely aware that everyone was waiting for someone to make the wrong move.

“I’m calling your bluff,” Ross said finally, “You aren’t going to hurt Stark.”

Clint’s heartbeat evened out, slow and steady. “Oh yeah?” he said calmly, right before he grabbed Tony’s arm and _twisted_.

Tony screamed, thrashing in Clint’s iron grip as broken bones scraped against each other.

“I’ll ask you again, Ross.” Clint’s voice sounded far away, cutting through the ragged sobs. “Do you really want to be the guy who got Iron Man killed?”

“You aren’t going to kill him!” Ross blustered, “He’s your teammate! He’s your _friend_!”

“He’s the guy who put me behind bars,” Clint said coldly, “He was never my friend.”

Tony winced.

“I don’t believe you,” Ross said finally.

Clint tilted his head in Sam’s direction. “Barton, don’t,” Tony gasped, his vision blurry, “Barton, I’m sorry, please –”

Sam aimed and fired.

Tony strangled his scream into a low groan as he stumbled. Clint held him up easily with the arm around his throat.

“The next one will be higher,” Clint said pleasantly, “And then higher after that. Until it reaches whatever’s left of his heart.”

Tony tried to breathe out through his mouth, slow and even, anything to distract him from the fire crawling up his left leg.

“You’re bluffing,” Ross said, his voice hesitant and unconvincing.

Clint nodded to Sam again. “Barton, no, _please_ ,” Tony inhaled sharply, “I’ll give you money – whatever you want – I’ll take care of your family –”

Clint pressed down and the rest of Tony’s words died into a gurgle as he scrabbled at his throat. “You go _near_ my family,” Clint hissed into Tony’s ear, “And I’ll hamstring you and use you for target practice.”

Tony couldn’t reply to this, because he currently couldn’t breathe.

“I’m running out of patience, Ross,” Clint said pleasantly, “And if Tin Can here says another word, I might lose it entirely.”

Sam kept the gun aimed at Tony, his hand steady. Scott pointed his at the guard closest to him, his face determined. Tony could almost hear Wanda’s panicked breaths over his own ragged gasps.

Ross stared at them, his jaw set.

“Alright,” Clint shrugged a shoulder, “We’ll go out with a bang.” He squeezed harder and Tony was forced on his tiptoes as he tried to get away from the crushing pressure, his broken arm clawing at Clint’s arm as he desperately tried to get enough leverage to –

“Enough,” Ross ground out, “ _Enough_.”

He motioned to the guards, who slowly began to clear out the door.

“You’re not going to get far,” Ross vowed, “I’ll find you, and I’ll _end_ you.”

“You do that,” Clint drawled, easing up on his grip. Tony choked as he accidentally put his weight on his bad leg, and gritted his teeth through the aftershocks of pain.

“Busting up an empty airport,” Ross sneered, “They would’ve let you go with a slap on the wrist. Kidnapping Tony Stark? You’re going to be in here for the rest of your life.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” Clint replied easily, dragging Tony to the cleared doorway.

  
They moved through the facility in an odd sort of shuffle – Tony first, held up against Clint as a shield, with Sam next to them, gun pointing straight ahead. Wanda was a step away from Clint’s back, and Scott brought up the rear.

Tony tried to limp along the best he could, but Clint had one arm locked around his throat and the other pressing a _very_ sharp knife where the arc reactor had once been. Neither arm lent any support, so Tony’s choices were either hobbling forward as best as he could and ignoring the stabbing pains every time he put too much weight on his injured leg, or choking himself with every step as Clint dragged him forward.

They came upon the first set of stairs and Tony made an involuntary whimper.

“Move it, Stark,” Clint snarled, pushing him forward. Tony squeezed his eyes tight and drew in a ragged breath.

The optimal strategy was ascending with his good leg, leaning back against Clint every time he took a step. Clint adjusted to the increased weight without a sound, only barking at him to move faster. Still, by the time they reached the top, Tony’s breathing was labored and he was alarmed to realize that his cheeks were wet.

He reminded himself that all of this was worth it, if everyone got out.

He reminded himself that this had been _his_ plan.

Neither reminder fared well when they reached the final spindly set of stairs leading out. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Tony wheezed.

“Up,” Clint said harshly.

“Can I get a break for a second, birdbrain?” Tony asked, breathing hard.

The knife pressed down deeper, and the guards half-hidden behind the other doors melted into the shadows. “Sure, and your blood can take a break from circulating in your body,” Clint said.

“Barton –”

“ _Move_!”

Tony moved.

This set of stairs were only flats, and Tony had to cover Clint from the possibility of being shot through the open spaces. They had to step in sync, and Tony ignored the stars bursting in his vision every time he pressed down on his bad leg.

The opening was almost in front of them. Tony could smell salt and sea and the cold winds whipped around them. With one final push, they were out.

Soldiers lurked in dark silhouettes around the edge of the Raft, guns locked and loaded as Clint dragged them across the landing pad. Tony swore as he stumbled – he caught himself with the wrong leg and his vision went white.

By the time he managed to drag back some semblance of consciousness, their backs were facing Tony’s jet as Ross stepped up off the stairs.

“Where are you going to go now, Barton?” Ross spread his hands, “Fancy a dip in the Atlantic?”

“Stark, open up your jet.”

Tony hesitated, staring at Ross’s face.

“ _Stark_.” The knife found its way to the soft skin of his throat.

“FRIDAY,” Tony said tremulously. The cold was biting deep and he tried desperately not to shiver with a knife at his jugular. “Open her up.”

The jet doors opened with a near-soundless hiss.

“Do you really think we’ll let you leave?” Ross asked softly, “With _him_?”

“Oh, you want Iron Man back?” Clint laughed, cold and sharp, “What do you say, Stark, shall I leave you here? After all, Secretary Ross deserves a present for being so patient.” His voice got darker, colder, “And _I_ deserve to watch you locked in the cells you made for us.”

Tony went very, very still. There was a raw edge to Clint’s voice – whatever else he’d been saying, _this_ part was real.

Tony looked at Ross’ deathly-white complexion and the barely contained rage on his face, and imagined being thrown to land in a sprawl at that man’s feet.

Logically, reasonably, Ross invited far more trouble than it was worth to imprison him in supervillain jail.

Ross’ expression didn’t look like it cared much for logic or reason anymore.

Tony dimly registered the sound of Sam and Scott and Wanda hurrying into the jet and winced, because the jet was barely big enough for three people, five was going to be pushing it – _four_ was going to be difficult too.

“Jump backwards on three,” Clint murmured into his ear, barely loud enough for him to hear, and Tony’s knees almost buckled in relief.

“Alright,” Clint said, louder, “I’ll let him go. Get the guns off me first.”

“No.”

“Guns lowered, or I’ll be returning Iron Man with a fatal stab wound,” Clint warned.

Ross made a wordless sound of rage and gestured sharply. The guns around them dipped to point at the floor.

“Great,” Clint said, “Three.”

“What –”

Tony threw himself backwards – Clint had scrambled back first, and strong arms caught him and tugged him fully inside right before the doors sealed shut.

The sound of gunfire started outside, but Tony’s jet was bulletproof. “FRIDAY, takeoff _now_ ,” he said hoarsely, before they tried a little more firepower, “Stealth mode, evasive maneuvers, anti-missile-lock.”

“Yes, boss,” FRIDAY responded with the most jarring takeoff Tony had ever been in – Wanda fell onto Clint with a yelp as the jet turned over and Sam and Scott cursed from their death grips on the seats.

“Shit,” Clint hissed, half jammed onto Tony and trying to brace himself in the corner. Tony tried to suppress the choked groan as Clint’s weight fell heavily on ribs that had probably been cracked and were now creaking their way to broken.

“Stealth mode initiated,” FRIDAY said, “No missiles detected. Shall I plot a course back to the Avengers Mansion?”

“No,” Tony gasped as the jet righted. Wanda pushed off of Clint, wedging herself behind the right seat. Clint awkwardly perched on the center console as Tony attempted to stand up, hissing as he grabbed the seat back with his broken arm. “We need to go after Steve and his undead zombie. They’re walking into a trap.”

He hunched against the back wall and breathed in and out until the stabbing pain eased enough for him to think.

“We need to get that bullet out,” Clint said, watching him carefully. Tony shook his head.

“Zemo faked Barnes’ appearance to flush him out. He got Barnes to be a homing beacon and Cap never looks before leaping. It’s a trap.”

“Well, we got five more Avengers here,” Clint made a show of looking around the extremely cramped interior, “And I’ve always been a fan of springing traps.”

“Where’d they go?” Tony asked Sam directly.

Sam bit his lip, sighed, and turned to key in the coordinates. “Siberia,” he said. He gave Tony a sidelong glance, “If the Accords will let you go.”

“Really?” Tony said, more tired than annoyed, “I just broke you out of jail – at _great personal cost_ , thank you Clint – and you _still_ don’t trust me?”

Sam raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m serious,” Clint said, twisting until he was facing Tony, “We need to get that bullet out and the wound patched. Where’s your first aid kit?”

Tony automatically waved for FRIDAY to slide out the kit, but his gaze slid to Wanda – as far in the corner as she could possibly go, still shaking, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. The collar was still beeping.

“Wanda –”

“After you get the wound patched, Tony,” Clint said firmly.

“No, I need to get the collar off –”

“Tony, your hands are shaking.” They were. Tony turned towards Clint, and gasped at the sudden onset of dizziness. Luckily, he had no room to fall.

“Okay, maybe the bullet wound first,” Tony said weakly.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood – does this jet have some sort of –”

“Right seat,” Tony gestured weakly.

“Right,” Clint maneuvered Tony forward – he couldn’t lift his leg anymore, and hissed as he was pulled across the center console – as Sam clambered over to the other seat, awkwardly climbing over Scott as they exchanged positions. “Leg up,” Clint directed, tugging Tony into the seat and pulling his wounded leg up to contort against the windscreen. “I think I prefer the bigger Quinjet.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on guests,” Tony huffed weakly. He sank into the seat, his eyes already beginning to close.

“Hey, Tony – no, you can’t – FRIDAY, how do I hook him up to a blood bag?”

“Place boss’ arm in the indent in the center console. I will ensure he gets the nutrients he needs.”

“Okay – oh, shit, this is the broken arm – Tony? Tony, this is going to hurt.”

Tony mumbled something – why couldn’t Clint stop bothering him? – and then arched up with a scream as something seized around his broken arm.

He panted through the aftershocks, breathing heavily as he felt the pinch of a needle entering his arm. “Fuck, Barton,” Tony hissed. The archer ignored him, shifting position to get at Tony’s gunshot wound.

“FRIDAY, do we have painkillers in this thing?” Tony grumbled as Clint widened the hole in his pants.

“Not strong enough for what Mr. Barton is planning,” FRIDAY chirped back.

Clint was wielding a set of tweezers. He gave Tony a sympathetic look. “Got to get it out,” he said.

“Fuck, FRIDAY, hit me with the strongest you got,” Tony slumped further in the chair and covered his eyes with one hand, like if he didn’t see it, it wouldn’t hurt.

He was disabused of that notion fairly quickly. The desire to not scream warred against the shrieking alarms – pain spreading like fire – and Tony hissed out a low whine as something was _dragged_ through him –

“Out,” Barton said cheerfully as something came free with a squelch, “Now for the stitches.”

“Kill me now,” Tony groaned, leaning back and waiting for the first pinch of needle through skin.

It was offset by the feeling of fingers running through his hair. The pressure was a relief against the pinch, tug, and _burn_ of the stitches and Tony pressed back into the hands. He dimly registered a low voice singing something in a language Tony didn’t recognize.

It lulled him back, down to the darkness that promised numbness, and Tony followed it gratefully.

* * *

“Winter Soldier information. Priority: urgent. I believe Mr. Stark needs to see this immediately.”

“He’s still sleeping, FRIDAY. We have a while to get to Siberia, and we need Iron Man in good shape when we get there. What’s the information?”

“This video was released on the Internet approximately four and a half minutes ago. It appears to be security footage from a roadside camera on Washington Road on December 16th, 1991. It does not appear to be tampered with, though I am running a full diagnostic at the moment.”

“Why is this high priority, FRIDAY, what happened on – oh. _Oh_. You said this was about the Winter Soldier?”

“Yes, Mr. Barton. Shall I play the footage?”

“I’m going to regret this, but go ahead.”

…

“Shit.”

“Oh, no, no, _no_ –”

_“Sergeant Barnes?”_

“Who is that?”

“Tony’s parents.”

“What – wait, _what_ –”

_“Howard? Howard?”_

…

“Fuck.”

“Tell me he’s still asleep.”

“What the fuck do we do?”

“Tell Bucky to get the hell out of dodge?”

“Cap would never –”

“Where did this come from anyway? Why _now_?”

“Tony? Tony, can you hear us? No, still asleep.”

“Thank god.”

“He’ll see it when he wakes up, you know.”

“This is really what we needed to top off this horrendous day.”

“ _Fuck_.”

* * *

Tony woke up with a gasp, hand moving to the arc reactor – no, the reactor was out, he needed to remember that. He shifted, and stifled a shout as his leg throbbed and his arm cramped. “FRIDAY, unhook my hand,” he mumbled, raising his free hand to scrub at his face.

“Welcome back,” Clint said from his contorted position against the windscreen. His smile looked slightly forced. “How are you feeling?”

“Like something died in my mouth,” Tony grumbled, straightening up as the intravenous line was extracted and his arm was freed. Scott was in the other seat, blinking at them blearily like he’d just dozed off – and then he caught sight of Tony’s face and blanched.

Tony sighed. He thought they’d gotten over this when he rescued them.

Sam was standing at the back, arms crossed, as was Wanda – Tony shifted position immediately when he saw her.

They’d gotten the straightjacket off, but not the collar – it blinked, large and ugly around her neck, doing _something_ to stifle her powers.

“Shit, Wanda, I’m sorry,” he scrambled around, until he was kneeling on the seat and facing Wanda, “I promise I’ll get that off of you as soon as I can – how long has it been – why did you guys let me sleep?”

“It has been three hours since you left the Raft,” FRIDAY said, as Clint responded, “You needed the sleep.”

“We’re still an hour out from Siberia,” Clint continued, “So there’s still time.”

“Have we heard anything from Cap?” Tony asked, reaching for his tool set and squinting at the collar – he could see a panel that would serve as an entry point. He motioned for Wanda to stay still and pried at it with a screwdriver, getting the panel off and exposing the wiring – just as he realized that the silence was stretching.

“Guys?” Tony asked quietly, peering at the wires, “Did we hear anything from Cap? Barnes?”

“No, we didn’t hear anything from Cap,” Clint said. His voice was strangely flat. Tony frowned as he followed a wire to a box, and he took out a smaller screwdriver to unscrew the casing.

FRIDAY piped up, “Video footage marked priority urgent –”

“Not now, FRIDAY,” Sam cut her off.

That was enough to draw Tony’s head up. “What’s urgent?” he said. No one was meeting his eyes. “What happened – is someone hurt, did something –”

“It’s not that urgent,” Clint said quietly. Tony scowled at him. “The collar,” the archer reminded him, and Tony’s gaze narrowed.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked, flat.

“Get the collar off of her first,” Clint said, his tone not open for negotiation.

“Barton –”

“We need her in a fight,” Clint said. Tony glared, because he was right. They had two guns, eleven bullets, one Iron Man suit, and whatever odds and ends on his jet that could be repurposed as a weapon. Wanda was the only one whose powers weren’t attached to the suit.

“Fine, Barton,” Tony pointed the screwdriver at him, “But I better get an explanation of what’s going on.” He turned back to Wanda, still grumbling, and stopped when she grabbed his hand.

“No,” she said softly, looking at him, and then at Clint, “He deserves to know.”

Tony froze. That tone of voice wasn’t encouraging.

“Wanda,” Clint said, “Your collar –”

“Can wait,” she replied firmly. She turned her gaze back to Tony. “He needs to know.”

“What happened?” Tony asked hollowly as he turned to face Clint. They were all looking at him like he was a bomb. Like someone had died. Oh _god_ – “Who died?”

“No one died,” Clint replied immediately, then his face twisted. A lie. “No one…” he sighed, “Nothing happened to any of your friends. Everyone’s safe. No one new has died.”

“No one new has died,” Tony repeated, because that was an odd turn of phrase.

“FRIDAY,” Clint said, and a holoscreen flickered to life in front of Tony, frozen on a dark gray still.

“Just,” Clint took a deep, ragged breath, “Just – I’m sorry, Tony. You shouldn’t have had to find out like this.”

“That’s not really calming me down,” Tony said, his heart pounding.

“I am sorry,” Clint said, holding his gaze, “You remember the HYDRA files Nat dumped on the Internet?”

“Without even a word of warning? Yes, I remember the files,” Tony said testily. The screen was still gray. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You remember the details of Barnes’ conditioning?” Clint asked.

Tony narrowed his eyes. Did he _remember_ – he had thrown up after he’d read that file, had dreamt of Afghanistan for days afterwards. Of course he remembered.

“Just – just keep that in mind,” Clint said, edging closer to Scott. “FRIDAY, play it.”

Tony’s thoughts – why did Clint bring up the Winter Soldier? Who had Barnes attacked _this_ time? Was Steve hurt? – came to a screeching halt as the video started.

_16 December 1991_.

“What the fuck is this?” Tony said, rooted to his seat.

The road – he recognized that road, recognized the car, recognized the _crash_ …but there had been no motorcycle.

Tony stopped breathing when light glinted off of a metal arm.

_“Sergeant Barnes?”_

Tony’s fingers were shaking with how hard he was gripping his seat.

The metal fist swung.

_“Howard? Howard?”_

Tony wanted desperately to close his eyes. He didn’t want to see this – oh, god, no, _his mother_ –

The cries cut off, a sudden stop.

James Buchanan Barnes stared directly into the camera before shooting it out.

“What the _fuck_ is this?” Tony found the rage first.

“This video was released to the Internet approximately fifty-four minutes ago. It has since been picked up by several news stations. The video’s authenticity has been verified.”

Tony swung his gaze up at Clint, who regarded him with a level stare that did nothing to conceal that he was pressed as far away from Tony as the windscreen would allow. Scott had curled up in his seat. Sam was wedged into the corner, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Wanda – Wanda was staring directly at him, her expression unreadable.

Tony turned back to Clint. “Did you know?”

“We found out when FRIDAY told us,” Clint said softly, which _wasn’t an answer to his question_.

“Did. You. _Know_.”

“No, Tony, I didn’t,” Clint shook his head, “I’m sorry.”

Tony’s gaze skipped over Scott – who held his hands up in surrender – to Sam, who was watching him carefully. “Did _you_ know?” he asked, soft and biting.

“Yes,” Sam said levelly, making no attempt to beat around the bush.

Tony made an inarticulate sound of rage. “ _When_ did you know?” he asked.

“The video’s point of origin has been traced to Siberia,” Clint said, but Tony kept staring at Sam.

“Steve mentioned that HYDRA was behind your parents’ deaths,” Sam divulged, “That it wasn’t an accident.”

“ _When_ did _Steve_ mention this to you?” Tony asked, keeping his tone level through great effort.

Sam’s next words shattered the artificial calm. “When we were taking down SHIELD.”

Tony didn’t – he couldn’t – Steve’s blue eyes, a _lie_ , so many years – he knew, he knew the whole time – his mother – that bastard had _killed his mother_ –

“Tony, breathe,” a cool voice said, a hand over his chest as Tony’s hand was grabbed and pressed against something that rose and fell. “Breathe – inhale, four count – yes, that’s good – hold four count – yes, Tony, like that, perfect – exhale, six count. Great job, again, inhale –”

His breathing stuttered and lagged, but eventually he managed to draw in enough breaths that his chest stopped squeezing. He let go of Clint’s hand and brushed off the archer’s concern. “I’m fine,” he said hoarsely, unable to articulate all the ways that it wasn’t true. “I’m fine. Or, at least I _will_ be fine once I find him and _kill him_.”

“Tony,” Clint said softly, and Sam affixed him with a tired look.

“It wasn’t him,” he said, staring at Tony, “You know that.”

“Oh, you mean it was some other man with a metal arm?” Tony laughed, high and sharp – Sam flinched.

“Tony, he was brainwashed, remember the files –”

“Shut _up_ , birdbrain,” Tony snarled, “He killed my _mother_.”

There was a long moment of silence – of Tony’s harsh breathing and the rising tension and the sound of his mother’s sobs echoing in his ears.

It was broken by Wanda. “You killed my parents,” she said.

Tony reared back like he was struck. Wanda regarded him calmly. “You killed my parents,” she repeated.

“I didn’t – this isn’t the same thing, Wanda, don’t – it was his own _hand_.”

“Did you not design your weapons with your own two hands?” Wanda asked softly. It felt like a knife to the ribs.

“I didn’t – Wanda, I never meant to – I’m sorry –”

“He killed your parents,” Wanda said levelly, “And you killed mine. Where is the difference?”

Tony stared at her.

“My weapons fell into the wrong hands,” he said quietly.

“ _He_ fell into the wrong hands. You know that. You know exactly what they did to him.”

He did. He could all too easily reconcile the Winter Soldier’s blank-faced stare with the confusion and terror and screaming in those files.

“He’s a killer,” Tony said weakly.

“He was brainwashed,” Wanda replied. _And you weren’t_ hit with the force of a sledgehammer. Tony choked.

“I learned to work with the man who killed my parents,” Wanda said, still calm, “Because I learned that he changed. Because clinging to the past only leaves ghosts. Because I could accept that he was trying to do better, or I could hold onto my rage until it poisoned everything around me.”

“This is different,” Tony said hollowly.

“How?” she asked.

_I’m Iron Man_ and _I didn’t mean to, I swear_ and _I didn’t know they were being sold on the black market_ and _I stopped as soon as I found out_ and _I didn’t pull the trigger_ and _I only meant to kill the people that my government had arbitrarily decided were enemies_ and _I have more blood on my hands in twenty years than James Buchanan Barnes accumulated in a lifetime._

“He killed my mother,” Tony said, small and weak, before crumpling against the seat and shaking against his crossed arms.

He hadn’t cried when his parents had died. A part of him had gone cold when the cops showed up at his door. _Car crash_ , they said, Obie’s awful, broken expression – he had taken it for grief, but it had probably been guilt. Obie had betrayed them all, but at one point he’d been Howard Stark’s closest friend.

But Tony had just been cold. Empty. Like a part of him had died with them.

_Car crash_ , they said, and Tony heard the words that went unsaid – _drunk driving_. He had been too cold to be angry.

He hadn’t stopped drinking – he _couldn’t_ stop drinking because the bottle had been the only way he could feel – but he never _ever_ got behind the wheel after a glass.

_Car crash_ , they said, and now Tony knew the truth – _murder_. His father hadn’t been drunk. It wasn’t an accident. It was an assassination.

He hadn’t cried when his parents had died. But he was crying now.

Curled up inside a two-seater jet with four escaped prisoners and the image of his parents’ deaths branded into his mind. 

“The jet is currently forty-five minutes out from the target, boss.”

Tony took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped messily at his eyes. He had a feeling he looked horrible, but there were no mirrors on the jet and he was going to ignore everyone’s facial expressions because he could _not_ deal with pity right now.

“Wanda,” he croaked, picking up the screwdriver again, “Need to get that collar off of you.”

Wanda eyed him for a long moment, her gaze flickering over his face and down to his hands – his left arm still throbbed from where it was braced between him and the seat – before she finally nodded.

“Tony?” Sam said slowly, and Tony unwillingly turned his gaze towards him.

Sam’s expression was not pitying. Guilty, yes; sad, definitely; exhausted – had any of the others gotten sleep while Tony was out?

“I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly, “For not telling you before.”

Tony stared at him. “You’re forgiven,” he said, which was something he never should’ve _had_ to say.

“But –”

“We barely knew each other. I understand why you didn’t walk up to me and tell me that my parents were murdered. We already have one bird brain on the team, and his spot isn’t up for grabs.”

“I retired,” Clint said, amused.

“Yes,” Tony said, _unamused_ , turning to stare at the archer, “That’s why you’re sitting on the console of the jet we used to flee from Ross and the underwater jail you were imprisoned in. Because you’re _retired_.”

Clint raised his hands in surrender.

“Steve, though – Steve should’ve told me. I’m going to kill him. After we rescue his stupid, star-spangled ass.”

Clint sighed. Sam’s expression twisted, but smoothed out to resignation.

“Anyone else have any confessions?” Tony spun to glare at Scott, who shrunk further in his seat. “No? Can I get back to taking the _collar_ off the _teenager_? Hmm?”

No one else interrupted him, and he took a fair portion of the grief and rage and used it to keep the exhaustion at bay as he ripped through the collar. It looked like it was designed on HYDRA specs, which meant it took Tony all of ten minutes to deconstruct the thing with one working arm.

Sam got the honor of pulling the thing apart and Wanda turned back to Tony with glittering eyes and a tremulous smile, “Thank you.”

Tony waved off the thanks, because she should’ve never been in that hole to begin with – Ross had a _lot_ to answer for and Tony was going to make damn sure he was the one asking the questions.

He slumped back in his seat and waved a hand to bring up their flight map. They were thirty minutes out from the Siberian base, but significantly behind Steve. They had to hope that things hadn’t gone fucked up beyond repair.

“Boss, Secretary Ross has just released a video to seven major news channels, American and international.”

“Christ, what _now_?” Tony groaned, waving a hand for her to bring it up.

“Secretary Ross has attempted to contact you via Stark Industries for the past three hours. Miss Potts has been fending off all his efforts. I suspect this is his latest ploy.”

“Alright, let’s see it,” Tony sighed, and gestured for her to play it.

It was security footage. From the Raft, clearly, because Clint had his arm around Tony’s throat, his face hard and unyielding. The Tony in the video looked disheveled and a little bit terrified.

“A+ on the acting, Barton, you’re definitely exuding snap-the-billionaire’s-neck vibes.”

_“I’ll ask you again, Ross.”_ Clint’s voice was cold and level as Tony grimaced. _“Do you really want to be the guy who got Iron Man killed?”_

_“You aren’t going to kill him! He’s your teammate! He’s your_ friend _!”_

_“He’s the guy who put me behind bars. He was never my friend.”_ Looking at the Clint on the video, Tony could almost believe it.

And if he could, the news channels _definitely_ would.

_“I don’t believe you.”_ Ross shook his head. The guards shifted around him. Almost out of frame, Sam adjusted his gun.

_“Barton, don’t – Barton, I’m sorry, please –”_ The words cut off with a _bang_ and a strained scream. The bullet wound was visible on the camera.

Clint’s eyes were hard. _“The next one will be higher. And then higher after that. Until it reaches whatever’s left of his heart.”_

The video cut out.

Tony covered his face with his working hand. Clint hummed. “Guess they’re going to redesign the wanted posters.”

“FRIDAY. Give me the gist of the headlines. What’re they saying?”

“Secretary Ross has made a public statement that the rogue Avengers escaped from military custody. Most have seized this headline. Some still don’t like you, however, and a few are questioning how easily you allowed yourself to be captured. Also, Miss Potts is calling you.”

“Great. Put her on,” Tony groaned. The line clicked on and Tony dragged up the last vestiges of his cheer. “Pepper, light of my life, I am _so_ sorry about that paperwork –”

“Tony,” Pepper cut him off, “Are you being held captive?”

“No.”

“And the video?”

“I wasn’t going to _leave_ them there,” Tony said, affronted.

Pepper sighed. “Are they with you right now?”

“Hi, Pep,” Clint answered for him, “How’s Stark Industries doing?”

“Far better before you decided to kidnap the owner.”

“Um. Will saying sorry help?”

“ _No_.”

“Laura’s pumpkin pie?” Clint tried.

Pepper paused. “That’s cheating,” Tony accused.

“I’ll throw in my mom’s apple pie as an apology for the bullet,” Sam called out, and that sealed the deal.

“Hey, _I’m_ the one you shot!”

“Very well,” Pepper said dryly, “Two boxes of pie. Tony, how are we going to play this? Where _are_ you? FRIDAY said you’re not at the Compound or the Tower.”

There was a long silence.

“ _Tony_.”

“Avengers business?” he tried.

Pepper muttered something under her breath, and he caught the _‘supposed to be retired’_ part. “Okay, do you have any idea when you’ll be back?”

“Um.”

“I don’t know why I even bothered to ask,” Pepper sighed, “Okay, I’m currently going with the angle on pressing Ross on how you even got kidnapped in the first place, but next time, inform me _before_ you decide to become an international fugitive.”

“It wounds me that you think any of this was planned.”

“No, you’re right, there’s far too little property damage for this to be one of your bright ideas.” Wanda giggled and Clint snorted as Tony glared at the call icon. “Tony. How are we going to play this? ‘Tony Stark Kidnapped’ is not what I want the morning headlines to read.”

Tony hummed, taking a second to think.

“Did Ross mention _where_ he was keeping them?” Tony asked.

“No,” Pepper replied, “I assume it’s important?”

Tony gave a shark-like grin. Ross, if he’d been around to see it, would’ve quickly realized why it was a bad idea to get on the wrong side of Tony Stark.

“Depends on how you think the media is going to react to a military black site operating as an underwater prison in the Atlantic – in what is technically international waters – and detaining teenagers in shock collars and straightjackets.”

He could almost see Pepper’s answering shark smile.

“I think the media is going to be very happy, Mr. Stark.”

“Give ‘em hell, Miss Potts.”

* * *

Tony shivered as he limped through the ruins of a hallway, lighting flickering in the eerie pattern of the half dead. He had taken the vanguard as the only one of them with a full suit, even if the suit had clamped around his broken arm to stabilize it and thus rendered his left repulsor unusable. Wanda brought up the rear, red humming in a cloud around her and lashing out at any sudden movement. Her eyes were wary, fear hiding rage no matter how hard she tried to put on a calm mask. She kept a good two arms’ length between her and Sam.

Scott was in the middle, holding the gun with one less bullet – Tony had given his repulsor watches to Sam, and Clint had the other gun, as well as the knife he’d pawned off of one of Ross’ guards. The four of them were still in prison uniforms, and severely underdressed for their current confrontation.

Tony had argued that he and Wanda should be the only ones who went inside – he would’ve preferred going in by himself, but he had no illusions to his abilities to fight five supersoldiers alone. Wanda had argued that it should be only her, given that Tony had a broken arm and a bullet wound. All four of them had argued that sending in the teenager by herself was happening over their dead bodies.

Finally, Clint told Tony that he couldn’t exactly _stop_ them, so he could either shut up so they could work out a plan, or they’d follow him the moment his back was turned. Tony grudgingly agreed, on the condition that he was team lead.

“Still sensing no heat signatures,” Tony’s voice echoed in the corridor, “Are you sure Cap came _here_?”

“These were the coordinates,” Sam said. “They should’ve gotten here hours before us.”

“So, definitely a trap then,” Tony said. They arrived at an elevator, and all of them paused. “Well, this isn’t ominous or anything.”

They piled in silently. The elevator was rattling and screeching, something twisted out of place and grating against the wall as they jerked to a halt at the lower floor. Tony had to use the suit to pry open the elevator doors.

“Registering one heat signature,” Tony repeated FRIDAY’s words as they filed out into the hallway. Supersoldier high. It looked like they met their first enemy.

Tony inched down the corridor, repulsor out, but the heat source wasn’t moving. It was slumped over in an alcove, very, very still. If Tony couldn’t see it on the infrared, he would’ve tripped right over it.

Blood. A lot of it. If the supersoldier had been trying to hide, they weren’t doing a very good job of it.

Tony motioned for the others to stay back as he rounded the corner, ready to fire –

“Steve?”

Shit shit _shit_ – Steve was bleeding, his face swollen and bruised, one arm limp and hanging _wrong_ , and Tony exhaled when bright blue eyes fluttered open.

They went wide as they focused on him, and Steve made an aborted movement to straighten. “Tony.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Clint said, crouching down to examine Steve’s injuries, “How many of them are left?” Wanda moved to cover the corridor, casting Steve an anxious glance.

“Broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, a lot of bleeding though it seems to have stopped,” Sam diagnosed, his hands fluttering over Steve’s injuries. He stilled when he got to Steve’s face.

“Cap, we need to know what we’re going into,” Tony said softly, “How many supersoldiers are there? Did any leave? Is Zemo still here?”

“Tony, please,” Steve said, his face twisting, “Please don’t.”

“Please don’t _what_? What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, and for a moment, Tony was struck with dread. But Steve’s breath hitched, and he continued, “I’m sorry for not telling you. Don’t take it out on him.”

Steve’s anguished expression made it clear who _him_ was.

Tony took a step back, and didn’t say a word.

“Steve,” Sam said, slow and level, “Who did this to you?” He was examining Steve’s face with a carefully neutral expression.

Clint’s eyes snapped to him, as did Tony’s, because what an odd question to ask –

“It’s not him,” Steve stuttered and it felt like several pieces locked together but the picture was impossible. “It isn’t – Tony, Tony _please_ – he’s been brainwashed – the trigger words – Zemo – Tony, please don’t –”

“Barnes did this to you?” Tony asked, and was surprised when his voice came out level.

_Please don’t kill him_.

Tony made no promises.

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Steve said, faster, more frantic, “Tony, I am so, so sorry for not telling you but it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t stop it, he isn’t in control, Tony, _please_ –” Steve faltered as Tony took another step back. “He’s my friend,” Steve said, soft, desperate.

_And what_ , Tony wanted to snarl, _am I?_

“Get him out of here,” Tony said, his words harsher than he intended, “Clint, Scott, get him back to the jet. Sam –”

“I’ll find Zemo,” Sam said quietly, straightening up.

Tony nodded sharply. “Wanda, you and I are on supersoldier duty.” Clint opened his mouth, but Tony spoke over him, “You agreed I was team lead. These are my orders. I can’t deal with a supersoldier if I’m also worried about you.”

Clint’s expression twisted before finally smoothing out. “Be careful,” he said.

“Tony,” Steve said in a lost, broken voice, “Tony, please.”

“We’re not done talking about the secret-keeping,” Tony said, trying to force his voice to something less sharp. Steve didn’t look like he cared, staring at Tony for an answer he didn’t want to give.

Tony exhaled harshly. “I’ll bring him back,” he bit off tersely, and hated himself for the jolt of pain as Steve finally relaxed.

“Stay behind us,” Tony muttered to Sam as they walked down the corridor, “If you see Zemo, go after him. Do _not_ engage Barnes.”

“Roger that,” Sam said quietly.

“Wanda,” Tony said as they found a set of stairs and descended slowly, “How are you on mid-fight experimental mind-control therapy?”

“You’re joking, right?” she said flatly.

“Normally I would be, but I’m having difficulty coming up with ideas to stop a supersoldier in their tracks without killing them so if you have a plan B, that would be great.”

Wanda was silent for a long moment, long enough that they reached the lower level. Two heat signatures, FRIDAY relayed, one hot enough to be a supersoldier, the other a normal human.

“Wanda?”

“I can try,” she said finally. She didn’t sound very confident.

“Steve managed to break him out of it,” Sam said quietly as they hovered at the threshold of the larger room. “In D.C. And in Berlin.”

“Steve is a mess of blood, bruises, and broken bones,” Tony said tightly, “Clearly his method didn’t work. And even if it would, Barnes has shown little objection to murdering Starks.”

Sam flinched and fell silent.

They hesitated on the threshold. “Are you sure about this?” Wanda asked finally.

Tony exhaled. “The last time I faced the Winter Soldier he shot at me, point-blank, and then threw me through a chair.”

Sam and Wanda were silent for a long moment.

“This time you have the suit,” Wanda offered.

“Yes,” Tony said, “This time I have the suit.” And a gunshot wound. And a broken arm.

He crossed the threshold.

“I need him still, if I’m going to attempt to access his mind,” Wanda said quietly as she slipped a step behind, Sam still hovering near the door.

“Understood,” Tony said. Both heat signatures were at the far side of the room – one shifted at the sound of his heavy, booted footsteps.

“Stark,” Zemo smiled behind a layer of glass as the Winter Soldier stood at attention, “I was beginning to think you’d never come.”

“Oh, all of this for me?” Tony turned in a half-circle, registering and ignoring the five cryo pods with bullet holes. “You shouldn’t have.”

“All for you,” Zemo agreed, his smile twisting to something manic, “To the man who destroyed my country and called himself a hero.”

“Destroyed your country,” Wanda said, stepping out from behind him. Her eyes were narrowed and red flickered around her. “Destroyed _your_ country? And where were you, when the politicians promised reform and jailed the opposition? Where were you, when HYDRA came to power? Where were you, when people were starving on the streets and crying out for help?”

Wanda’s eyes were as cold as ice. “I know where you were,” she snarled, “You were throwing us in jail and accepting HYDRA’s money and shooting crying children on the streets. Ultron may have destroyed Sokovia, but you and yours ensured there was little left to ruin.”

Zemo snarled something at her and Wanda hissed back, both of them trading jabs too fast for FRIDAY to translate. Zemo broke off and turned his glare back on Tony, “And you would rather fight for _him_?”

“Tony Stark is ten times the man you are,” Wanda said levelly and Tony jerked back in surprise. He met her gaze as she smiled at him.

“It doesn’t matter. The Avengers die here today,” Zemo snapped, his eyes full of poison. “Soldat!” The Winter Soldier straightened. “Kill them all.”

Zemo disappeared from the glass – “Sam!” Tony called out, answered by a faint, “On it!”

The Winter Soldier stepped forward. Tony could see what Steve meant – there was none of the anger and frustration he’d seen on the fleeing man in Bucharest. There was none of the efficient, exasperated soldier from Leipzig. There was only the mindless, deadly assassin that had killed his parents without hesitation.

This was a cold, lifeless killing machine and Tony abruptly reevaluated his chances.

“You’re really rocking the whole ‘dead-eyed raccoon’ thing,” Tony said, turning his right arm repulsor out as Wanda slowly stepped away from him. “Very grad student chic. Lose the leather, add a cup of coffee, and it’d be perfect.”

The Winter Soldier switched his gaze from Wanda back to Tony, the plates in his metal arm whirring as they resettled.

Tony fired first – the Soldier took the repulsor blast on the metal arm and lunged forward. Tony backpedaled, dodging the metal fist and ignoring the gun in the Soldier’s other arm. “You know, you hurt Steve,” Tony said, breathless, as he dodged again and wondered how he was going to hold the Soldier down with one working arm. “He’s going to do that thing where he pouts and sulks around and gives stupidly earnest puppy-dog faces until you agree to something foolish, like team movie nights.”

The Soldier didn’t seem interested in his chatter, and Tony couldn’t dodge the next punch.

The good news was that Tony’s ribs hadn’t been broken, only bruised. The bad news was that this time he definitely heard something crack.

Tony snarled and yanked the metal arm down, slamming into the Soldier to throw him across the room. He twisted midair, landing on his feet and running straight at Tony again – Tony fired the repulsor, aiming lower this time, and the Soldier hissed as the blast burned into his leg. It wasn’t enough to down him, but it was enough to hobble him.

“Come on, old man, are we really going to do this dance?” Tony asked, circling him, “You won’t kill Steve. You _can’t_ kill Steve. I mean, I get it – the man bats those baby blues and you –”

The Winter Soldier leapt for Tony’s _face_ and his yelp was definitely undignified as he scrambled out of the way.

“I need him _still_ , Stark!” Wanda called out and Tony cursed – his movements were constrained by his injured left arm and leg and the Soldier’s laser focus snapped to his weakness with an intensity that was definitely frightening.

“I’m _trying_ ,” he said through gritted teeth, blocking the Soldier’s punch and answering with a kick, “He’s not exactly making it easy –”

The Soldier slammed his boot against Tony’s left leg, and Tony screamed as he felt the stitches tear, the shock reverberating through the armor and –

A bright, searing pulse from the reactor, that Tony barely managed to dial back in intensity so that he didn’t murder the man – no matter how much he wanted to, how much it _raged_ at him because this was the man – this was the _assassin_ who murdered his parents and this wasn’t Bucky Barnes, and this wasn’t Steve’s friend and Tony wanted to take his revenge so badly his vision was blurring –

Tony set his jaw and advanced on where the Winter Soldier was a heap of limbs against the far wall. Wanda crept forward and Tony clenched his teeth – _set a good example for the vengeful teenager_ , a part of his mind chanted as another whispered reproachfully, _you promised Steve_ , and the howling, searing fury was chained back a little further.

“Is he out?” Wanda asked quietly and – before Tony could even open his mouth for an answer – the Winter Soldier lunged upright, aiming for –

“ _No_!” Tony snarled, leaping forward to get between the assassin and Wanda, and the Winter Soldier switched gears easily, focusing on Tony, metal arm coming for a punch.

Tony raised his arm for a block and saw, too late, the punch shift to a knife hand aimed straight at the reactor.

Something _definitely_ cracked this time and Tony swore, grabbing the Soldier’s metal arm so that they both fell back with the momentum. “Wanda, now!” he shouted, trying to lock the Soldier in place – those eerie, dead eyes were focused on the reactor as the metal fist raised for a better try –

Tony used the opening to slam his fist into the Soldier’s face, but it barely seemed to phase him – the metal hand came down again – “Reactor at 63% stability and falling, boss.” – and he couldn’t shoot at Barnes, Wanda was right behind him with a red cloud twisting over the Soldier’s head – the Soldier slammed down Tony’s right arm and he panicked, he twisted his left arm up and –

Metal fingers grabbed Tony’s broken arm and _squeezed_. Tony let out a strangled scream and tried to claw Barnes’ face off, he needed to let go, he needed to – _crunch_.

FRIDAY’s warnings, the HUD, the hum of the reactor – they all cut out instantaneously.

Tony saw the Winter Soldier’s face through the visor – no satisfaction, no thrill of victory, just the grim determination as he lifted the metal hand to punch through the suit and tear out his heart.

_“Tony, please, he’s my friend.”_

Instead of the knife shot to the ribs he’d been expecting, he got two hundred pounds of supersoldier slamming into him. Tony didn’t scream, because he didn’t have the breath to scream, but he swore inventively in his head as his ribs made loud, shrieking protestations.

“Stark!” Wanda said, and the weight was lifted off of him as red filled the visor and the faceplate catches _click_ ed off. “Stark! Are you okay?”

“Define okay?” Tony croaked. Wanda’s expression was a cross between terrified and worried and he waved her off with the arm that was merely bruised. “Barnes?”

“I knocked him out,” Wanda said, casting a glance at something out of his field of view as Tony began hunting for the manual release catches. “I found the triggers, but I need more time. I think if I can disrupt one of them, the chain will break.”

“How long is he going to stay out?” Tony asked, managing to get the chestplate off. The armor around his broken arm was badly mangled and he hissed as he carefully extricated his arm.

“I don’t know,” Wanda bit her lip.

“Sam?” Tony asked, sitting up, “Zemo?”

“No sign of them.”

“Go,” Tony waved her off, “I’ll buy us some more time.” He found the releases for the legs and shrugged out of the rest of it – it had taken a beating, which was useful right now because Tony could break off one of the protruding pieces and stumble over to where the Winter Soldier lay prone, Wanda’s fingers at his temples as her expression twisted.

He jammed his makeshift lever into a space between the metal plates, high up on the arm, and twisted until the plate tore free. The inner workings were a mess of wires that Tony didn’t have the time or energy to puzzle out, so he tore out any that were connected to the port in Barnes’ shoulder.

“He’s waking up,” Wanda said, strained, her closed eyes narrowing as her fingers dug in deeper.

Tony straddled the unconscious man, ignoring the metal arm – if he missed a wire, they were all dead anyway – and trapped the other arm under his knee, trying to ignore the way his leg was screaming at him.

The Soldier woke quickly – one moment he was limp, the next his entire body had tensed under Tony, and the next he _twisted_ , unseating Tony and freeing his right arm.

Tony had bought maybe two seconds as the Soldier attempted to move an arm that wasn’t responding, but it was quickly apparent that the assassin could adapt quickly – in a haze of motion Tony didn’t quite catch, he found himself trapped against the Soldier, a vicious, one-handed chokehold around his throat.

“Wanda!” Tony hissed, clawing at the inexorable grip – the Soldier was pressing down on the bruises that Clint had left and the pain was warring with the suffocation.

“Almost done,” Wanda said faintly.

“Goddammit, Barnes,” Tony choked, thrashing in the inescapable grasp as black spots began to dot his vision, “At least wait for the second date.”

Stars were exploding in Tony’s head and he couldn’t breathe and it _hurt_ and –

“Done!” he faintly heard Wanda exclaim as the arm around his throat went slack.

Tony scrambled free as soon as he could, twisting free of Barnes’ limp hold and taking heaving breaths as he crawled away from the limp assassin. 

“I did it,” Wanda said quietly, looking at him with eyes that didn’t quite focus, “I buried one of the triggers, I don’t know if it’s permanent –”

“Later,” Tony croaked, because she was swaying in place, blinking at him with confused eyes – and he lunged forward enough to catch her as she crumpled, her head knocking painfully against his collarbone.

“Tomorrow’s problem,” he murmured to her hair as he curled his unbroken arm around her and stared down at the man who had murdered his parents.

* * *

“Is he…” Sam’s voice echoed hesitantly as he walked towards them.

“Alive. Not the Winter Soldier, hopefully, but I’m not getting close enough to check.”

Sam took in the ruin of the Iron Man suit and the two of them, Wanda still not-quite-conscious as she leaned against Tony, and he exhaled heavily.

“Zemo?” Tony asked.

“Dead,” Sam said, his gaze shuttering. Tony couldn’t help his raised eyebrow. “Apparently this was a suicide mission,” Sam said, and Tony could see the upset in the jut of his jaw.

So many people dead, and for _what_?

“Let’s get out of here,” Tony said, abruptly itching to be anywhere but this cold, abandoned bunker, with five dead supersoldiers still locked in their pods like the creepiest specimens Tony had ever seen.

Wanda hummed as he nudged her, and they both managed to straighten up as Sam attempted to lift up two hundred plus pounds of deadweight.

“Some help?” he asked, huffing, as he dropped the metal arm.

Tony raised an eyebrow that clearly indicated he’d gotten up close and personal with the Winter Soldier and was _not_ letting that man’s arms anywhere near his throat, not even while unconscious.

“Tony?” Clint called out from the doorway and they all twisted towards him as he entered the room, narrowed eyes and gun up. “Status?”

“Five dead supersoldiers, one dead Zemo, one unconscious and hopefully de-wintered super-assassin,” Tony said, “Casualties include my suit and dignity.”

Clint cracked a smile, but still checked the corners of the room before making his way towards them. “Steve?” Tony asked quietly when he was close enough.

“The wounds are closing, I tried to set the bones best I could,” Clint said, his gaze tracking to the teenage witch leaning heavily on Tony’s non-injured arm. “Wanda?”

“Too much…detail,” Wanda waved a hand, “Focus. I have a headache. I’ll be fine.”

“Come on,” Tony said, “This place is giving me the creeps.”

Clint gave Sam a hand – between the two of them, they more or less managed to lift Barnes’ weight. Tony cast a mournful glance at the suit, but he could barely stay upright himself and he couldn’t drag the suit and support Wanda at the same time.

The corridors were ten times creepier without the armor and Tony flinched at every echoing sound as they made their way back out. It had grown significantly darker since they went inside and the cold air was a stinging slap to the face.

Clint and Sam maneuvered Bucky to the second Quinjet – the one Steve must’ve flown in, and Tony was too exhausted to deal with them right now. He ignored the exclamations and made for his jet, slumping down on the gangway.

Wanda settled next to him slightly more gracefully, and both of them watched the snowflakes twirling in the dusk.

After what could have been five minutes or five hours – Tony’s temporal awareness was slipping, and the snowflakes were hypnotizing – Clint walked over to them. The archer looked about as exhausted as Tony felt – there were dark circles under his eyes and his expression had slipped to bone-deep resignation.

“You tore the stitches,” Clint sighed, heading inside the jet to find the medkit.

“Technically it was the murderbot,” Tony grumbled, but Clint ignored him. He came back with some gauze that he carefully wrapped around the wound. The archer’s fingers were trembling.

“Where are we going?” Scott asked, shuffling through the snow. “Not to rush you guys or anything, but we’re all escaped fugitives at this point and I’m not a big fan of prison.”

Tony sighed. “Anyone have any safe houses they haven’t burned yet?” he asked, burying his face in his hands because his head felt like it was splitting into two – Ross thought he was kidnapped, the whole world knew about his parents, the Raft was going to become mainstream news, and he was inches away from passing out on the nearest horizontal surface.

It had been a _massively_ exhausting…day? Couple of days? How many hours had it been since Peggy had passed away? Since the U.N. bombing? Since Bucharest, since Berlin, since, since, _since_.

“None nearby,” Clint said quietly, tying the bandage off. “We need to get to ground as quickly as we can. Before someone finds us.”

As though summoned by his words, there was a faint sound of an engine that grew steadily louder. Tony groaned and Clint stumbled upright, Scott raising his gun as they both turned to face the new threat.

Tony turned as the engine – a snowmobile cutting sleekly across the white expanse – cut off and the lone figure dismounted. Clint lowered his gun.

“Was it that difficult to drop me a text?” Natasha asked, raising an elegant eyebrow.

“Tasha,” Clint breathed out. Scott lowered his gun, his expression wary.

“Hey, Nat, we’re heading to Siberia,” she composed, stalking towards them, “Want to help us take down some supersoldiers? Here are the coordinates. Love, your –”

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked, cutting to the point.

“Tracking my idiot teammates,” Natasha said flatly, “Because apparently none of them can be trusted to not declare themselves wanted fugitives if left alone for a couple of hours.”

Tony glared back and Natasha crossed her arms. “Everyone alive?” she asked.

“More or less,” Clint shrugged.

“The supersoldiers?”

“Dead.”

“Zemo?”

“Dead,” Clint’s face twisted to a wry grin, “Sorry we didn’t leave any leftovers.”

“Luckily for you, I can rustle up my own dinner,” Natasha said, her gaze glancing from Tony to Wanda to Sam, leaning against the second Quinjet, “Come on – I have a place not too far from here.”

“Of course you do,” Tony sighed, groaning as he levered himself upright.

“Welcome to the motherland,” Natasha smirked.

* * *

Tony rubbed at his eyes as he stumbled to the kitchen – and stopped dead, because it was already occupied.

Barnes met his gaze levelly, metal arm in a sling, and filled up a mug from the coffeepot before sliding it across the table.

Tony wavered on the threshold, warring with himself to go get the repulsors or just sit down, before the scent of coffee made his decision for him.

He slid gracelessly into the chair and curled his hand around the mug before sniffing it suspiciously. “This better not be poisoned,” Tony muttered.

Barnes raised an eyebrow at the idea that he’d need poison to kill Tony.

“This better not be decaf,” Tony amended.

The corner of Barnes’ mouth twitched in something that might’ve been amusement on anyone who wasn’t a HYDRA superassassin. Tony didn’t like it. Tony didn’t want to see a smile on Barnes’ face, see anything that tied him back to Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend, the handsome man laughing in all the old war reels, bright and dangerous and _alive_.

Before HYDRA had gotten their hands on him.

Before they turned him into a weapon.

Before that weapon killed his parents.

“I’m sorry,” Barnes said, low and quiet. It almost sounded sincere.

“Sorry for what?” Tony snapped. He tried to suppress it, to get a better handle on his temper, but his nerves had frayed somewhere around Leipzig and one cup of coffee wasn’t enough to claw back his self-control. “For killing my parents? For _murdering_ my _mother_? For trying to shoot me in the face? For destroying my suit? For strangling me?”

Barnes met his gaze, his jaw tight. “Yes,” he said softly. His body was still, defensive, his gaze locked on Tony but his working hand clutching the counter behind him.

Like – like he expected Tony to attack. Like he was _letting_ Tony attack.

Tony exhaled in a rush, anger slipping through his fingers like smoke.

“The Avengers have a policy,” Tony stared at his mug. There was a slight chip on the handle. “No one apologizes for the things they did under mind control.”

“Surprisingly more common than you’d think it is,” Clint said from behind them. He got his own mug of coffee, settling into a chair next to Tony, “Where’s Nat?”

“She went out,” Barnes said, “To clean up the bunker.”

“And she’s back,” Natasha called out from the front door, accompanied by the sound of rustling and howling wind before she closed the door and walked into the kitchen. She had several bags of what smelled like food.

“You stink of smoke,” Clint wrinkled his nose and Natasha grinned.

“What did you do?” Steve sighed as he entered the kitchen, trailed by Sam. Tony’s grip on the mug tightened and he kept staring at it as Wanda and Scott entered as well.

“Cleaned up your mess,” Natasha said, “With the judicious application of gasoline and matches. And then picked up some food on the way back.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the hiss of the coffeemaker and the sound of ceramic against wood, soft muttering as Natasha and Clint parceled out the food and sighs as everyone began to dig in.

Tony didn’t touch the sandwich in front of him, his knuckles turning white as he clutched his empty mug. The kitchen was big enough for the eight of them, but Tony still felt like it was too small, too crowded, too _much_ –

“So what now?” he forced out through gritted teeth. The wary relaxedness disappeared in an instant – the sounds of chewing slowed, gazes narrowed, and the tension ratcheted up.

“Can it wait?” Steve asked, his voice neutral in the way that Tony hated because it meant that he was putting on his Captain America face, it meant that he was hiding his real feelings behind the _I’m-the-leader-I-have-to-set-a-good-example_ mask.

“Wait for what?” Tony asked, leaning back, “For us to start clawing off each other’s faces? I’m surprised this kitchen’s still standing.”

“Tony, we’re a team,” Clint sighed, “We’ll discuss things, as a team, after we finish eating.”

“We’re not a team,” Tony said, and felt the glares intensify. “Bruce was right – we’re a time bomb, and we _exploded_. We can’t pretend everything’s fine.”

“Tony –”

“No,” Tony said, shaking his head, “ _No_.” He let go of the mug and balled his hand into a fist before anyone could see how badly it was shaking. “Every injury I have right now, I got from _one of you_.”

He let his gaze drift across the room – Clint was staring at him, more exhausted than angry, Steve’s jaw was tight, Sam’s expression was carefully blank, Scott was glaring at him, arms crossed, Barnes was pressed back into the corner, staring at Steve, there was something sharp in Natasha’s eyes, and Wanda was frowning at the table.

“We’re not a team,” Tony said shakily, “We –”

“No,” Steve said firmly, “No, we’re not.” Everyone looked at him with no small measure of shock, but his gaze was fixed on Tony. “We’re a _family_ ,” he said, his voice soft – almost pleading. “And we stick together.”

“And how,” Tony retorted, because he could see what Steve was asking for and he didn’t know how to give it to him, “Do we do that? We’re all fugitives.”

“We don’t need a compound or a tower to be the Avengers,” Steve said.

“It’s not about the _Tower_ , Cap, every single person on the street knows our faces!” Tony snarled, resisting the urge to grab his shoulders and shake sense into him, “We wouldn’t last _ten seconds_ on the run, we can’t hide –”

“Then we don’t,” Steve shrugged, his blue eyes bright and piercing.

Tony froze, his heart caught in his throat. “Did you – are you –”

“Staying together is more important than how we stay together,” Steve said carefully, glancing up at Natasha. Tony followed his gaze, and was met with a small smile.

“You’ll sign?” Tony asked weakly.

“No Raft. No American interference,” Steve said, his gaze hard, “And Ross will _never_ be let near an enhanced human again.”

“If Ross gets anywhere near me, I’m shooting an arrow in his eye,” Clint muttered, “But if we’re adding amendments to the Accords, I noticed there was no mention of sick leave.”

“Or where the money’s coming from,” Sam said, “Stark Industries shouldn’t be footing the bill for everything if the orders are coming from someone else.”

“No more World Security Council,” Natasha said quietly, “No more hiding in the shadows. Every member of the panel should be ratified in front of the U.N.”

“Procedures for dealing with unsanctioned missions,” Wanda added, “For when we don’t have the time to wait for approval.”

“Does the position come with a salary?” Scott asked, “And where would the Avengers have to be based?”

“You could at least wait for me to write these all down,” Tony grumbled, but a weight he didn’t even know he’d been carrying was dissolving. He turned to the one person who had remained silent. “And what about you, Frosty, what are your demands?”

Barnes stared at him. “I thought the Accords were for the Avengers,” he said slowly.

“And what, you want a gold-leaf invitation?”

Barnes turned to Steve, who was looking at Tony with eyes wide with hope. “Tony –”

“Don’t. Don’t give me that look, I swear, _Steve_ –” Tony broke off with a squawk as he was engulfed in a surprisingly gentle hug.

“Thank you,” Steve said quietly, “Thank you for bringing him back. Thank you for this.”

_I didn’t do it for you_ , some part of Tony wanted to snap back, but that wasn’t true, was it.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, his voice going rough, “I didn’t – I didn’t know how to tell you, and I kept putting it off, and I swore I’d tell you as soon as I found him, but everything was a mess and Tony, I swear, I never wanted you to find out like this.”

Tony curled his hand in Steve’s shirt and tried to remember how to breathe. “You should’ve told me as soon as you found out,” Tony hissed, his voice cracking.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“I thought for _years_ that he was driving drunk, that he killed my mom because he thought he was –”

“I – I know, I’m sorry,” Steve repeated near-soundlessly.

“Why couldn’t you just _tell_ me?” Tony asked, hating the way his voice broke in the middle.

“Because I was a coward,” Steve said quietly, “Because I told myself that it didn’t matter. Because I was too afraid to see your expression.”

“You’re an idiot,” Tony said, muffled against Steve’s shoulder.

“Lucky we have a genius on the team,” Steve chuckled wetly, drawing away. Tony took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to compose himself again.

“Are Mommy and Daddy done fighting then?” Clint asked, _sotto voce_.

Several groans and balled-up wrappers were aimed in Clint’s general direction. “What?” the archer said, ducking away, “The custody agreements would’ve been a _nightmare_.”

Natasha sighed, but there was a faint smile on her face. “Any ideas for how we want to play this?” she asked, “We can’t exactly stroll into the Joint Counter Terrorism Centre and ask to change the Accords, pretty please.”

Tony felt a smile curve his lips.

“Why not?”


End file.
